The Best Story Ever
by plutospawn
Summary: True love is hard enough, but when a baby enters the picture will Atton and his Exile's world ever be the same? Atton/Exile.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Many, many thanks to prisoner24601 and rimwalker for helping to co-write this monster. I had a ball with this.

* * *

For Atton Rand, the day began like any other. Through the film of sand and sleep, he pried his eyes open, shot an ugly glance at the figure face down beside him on the mattress, shot another at the empty liquor bottles on the floor and ran to the refresher just in time to heave out his insides.

One day he'd learn, but that day had obviously not been the night before and was unlikely to be any of the following days in the near future. Atton stayed huddled on the floor for a long while, his forehead pressed against the cold ceramic tiles and he contemplated his own death. At that moment, dying seemed preferable to the waves of nausea that rolled over him.

Nico Kor-Vas, unsurprisingly, managed to sleep through it all.

As soon as Atton was confident that he wouldn't start retching the moment he began to move, he crawled back to bed and was disappointed that he lacked the energy to kick Kor-Vas' unmoving form to the ground. In retrospect, maybe Atton should have been concerned over the other man being so still, but it was Kor-Vas and death seemed to be the better fate when compared to making love to the porcelain goddess.

So Atton closed his eyes again and he slept. When he woke, he knew he was actually dreaming because of how disjointed he felt. A world filled with a haze of cigarra smoke and surrounded by red glowing eyes. Atton swore at them as his legs went numb and he was pretty sure that those strange, sing-songy decibels were actually mocking words that those machines chose to respond to him with.

While wondering just what the hell he could have eaten that would've prompted such a nightmare, Atton lashed out with his arms and screamed. More droid gibberish followed and he felt a red hot pinprick straight into his abdomen. The worst part was that the more he struggled, the more he could feel his insides tearing.

So he called them all assholes. He called their mothers assholes. He threatened to relieve himself on their fathers' faces. That one seemed to get some laughter, at any rate.

Just as Atton reached the point of considering begging, he felt a firm pressure on his backside and unceremoniously did a face plant onto the carpet. Cigarra smoke bit into his nostrils and he still felt like puking. Kor-Vas' foot resting on his shoulder was also doing little for his mood.

"Well, good morning to you, too," Atton grumbled. "It's great to see you so well rested."

Kor-Vas' heel dug into his shoulder as the other man shifted to an almost sitting position on the edge of the bed. "You look even shittier than normal," the Jedi Exile observed as he fumbled for his cigarras.

Atton groaned. "I think it might've been a mistake to mix Tatooine sunrises with that mint stuff. Or all that vodka."

With his legs still kicked over the side of the bed, Kor-Vas leaned back onto the mattress with his elbows. He appeared vaguely disinterested as he took a drag of his cigarra. "That's what you get for drinking stuff that comes with a paper umbrella. Serves you right."

"But those umbrellas look so pretty in your hair, doll face." Atton shoved Kor-Vas' foot aside and pushed himself up. He didn't feel much like moving. He didn't feel much like anything, come to think of it.

Atton pulled himself back onto the mattress and proceeded to bury his head with a pillow after a gruff, "frack off" was spat in Nico's direction. The former general didn't seem too deeply affected and the only sign that Kor-Vas had left was that the ever present cloud of cigarra smoke had dispersed. Atton closed his eyes and vainly attempted to deny reality.

What he had initially assumed to be a hangover inevitably turned into food poisoning, inevitably turned into a long, drawn out battle with the flu. Weeks passed and Atton began to wonder if his initial death wish was slowly being fulfilled. His dreams were colored by nothing but the memory of red droid eyes and for all he slept, he was only rewarded with nausea and exhaustion.

If Kor-Vas was concerned, he hid it well behind a veil of perpetual annoyance. But that was just the way Kor-Vas was. Supply the man with cigarras and cheap women, and he could decimate the Mandalorians. It was just that when there were no wars to make use of his positive traits that he reverted to the womanizing, chain-smoking borderline alcoholic that Atton would snidely insist was an absolute pleasure to deal with. Atton found himself quickly demoted from the other man's bed to the couch in the spare room.

It could have been worse. It could always get worse. Worse, apparently decided to show up in the form of a protruding lump in his abdomen that appeared to be growing. Cancer. Great. So that Kor-Vas asshole who could go through an entire carton of cigarras on a good day was the picture perfect image of health while Atton was the one with weird tumors in his body? The will of the Force could kiss his ass.

So Atton sat on the edge of the couch, a syringe dripping with kolto clutched in his hand. Like hell he was going to show the Disciple this; he'd rather go to an actual doctor. His only other options were to ask Kor-Vas for some Jedi healing, which sounded laughable at best or to self treat with kolto injections followed by a shot of juma.

Atton tried to ignore the stumbling he heard a room over as he clenched the syringe between his teeth and pushed his shirt up while fumbling for the bottle of juma. Kor-Vas had better have been alone. If Atton was expected to be able to smile pretty for some space tramp the Exile dragged in, everyone was going to be sadly disappointed.

The Exile frowned at Atton as he half strutted, half stumbled into the room. "Damn. Do some crunches or something to get rid of that flab."

"Real funny," Atton snapped. He poked at his gut with a finger. "Does this look normal to you? I'm going to stab myself full of kolto, drink a bottle and hope I'm still breathing tomorrow."

The Exile cocked his head to the side as his eyes narrowed and then got really, really wide. Atton was pretty sure that he'd never seen that expression on Nico's face before.

"That's... You've..." Nico shook his head before finally spitting it out. "That's just not possible."

Atton gave the other man a smile, stretched and fake. He did a little flourish with the syringe. "What is it? A tumor filled with candy?"

It was almost hysterical how freakishly round the Exile's eyes grew as disgust twisted his features. "That's wrong, man. That's so fracking wrong!"

"Tell me about it," Atton muttered as he injected the kolto directly into the lump. "With all the things you put into your body, you'd think it'd be you and not me."

"No you don't freaking understand. Kolto's not going to help, you idiot." Kor-Vas backed away a couple of steps and bumped into the wall. "That's not a tumor. That's a kid!"

Atton glanced down at the empty syringe still sticking out of his gut. He looked back up at Nico's contorted face, and then Atton doubled over and cackled hysterically.

Nico fumbled at the wall with a hand and backed even further away. "I'm not joking. That's a kid. I don't know how, but you're pregnant."

"Kiss my ass," Atton chuckled. "How drunk are you?"

"Not drunk enough." The Exile moved over to one of the storage crates filled with juma, his eyes never leaving Atton's abdomen, even as he fished one of the bottles out of the crate, popped the cork and took a long, hard swallow.

Atton reached for a bottle of his own. "Seeing as that can't happen, you're going to have to excuse me while I assume you've completely snapped."

"I _know _that it can't happen. But leave it to an asshole like you to make the impossible, possible." He frowned at Atton's bottle, and with a wave of his hand sent the bottle spinning through the air and crashing into the wall.

Well, that was a waste of twelve credits. Atton sucked air in through his teeth and pulled a face. "What do want me to do, Kor-Vas? Pee on a stick?"

Kor-Vas pointed towards the refresher. "Get your ass in there, right now and find out for sure."

Atton offered the other man an obscene gesture as he tossed the syringe on the ground and fumbled for the console to the refresher's console. Last time he'd checked, glitterstim didn't give a body hallucinations. Well, those kinds of hallucinations, anyway.

Leave it to Kor-Vas to have a pregnancy test waiting in the refresher. It was part of a two pack tucked away next to an economy sized box of condoms. The package was already torn open and one of the tests was missing, presumably used during one of those occasional false alarms.

The crap Atton had to do for people. Kor-Vas had better remember this. It wasn't just any random day that a grown man would be dangling a pregnancy test over the refresher, attempting not to urinate on his fingers.

Then again, Atton wasn't exactly expecting to come face to face with a little, blue plus sign on the screen, either.

Of all the things they had done together, the Mass Shadow Generator, sweeping up bits and pieces of Darth Sion, having a one-handed, geriatric sociopath kick the crap out of them, this had to be the most ludicrous. It was insane. It couldn't be possible.

Atton's mouth twisted. That drunk hack was fracking with him. Atton found a plunger leaned up against the refresher bowl and gave it a test swing.

When he stormed out of the refresher he found Kor-Vas right where he'd left him. The Exile was putting quite the dent in that bottle of juma. Atton's mouth twisted. He rolled back his shoulder and put his entire weight into cracking Kor-Vas upside the head with the plunger.

"You think this is some kind of joke, huh?" Atton demanded.

It must have caught Kor-vas completely off guard. The Exile flew off the crate and slammed into the wall behind him. The juma bottle clattered to the floor as Kor-vas just sat there for a second, blinking up at Atton. And then the former general snarled and launched himself at Atton, his fist connecting with Atton's nose.

"What the frack was that for?" he demanded.

"I'm going to kill you," Atton explained, ignoring the warmth of blood beginning to ooze from a nostril. "And then I'm going to kill myself. Because that makes perfect sense."

"Me? What the hell do I have to do with any of this?" He pointed a finger at Atton. "You're the freak that got knocked up."

"Oh, for the love of frack, you were the last person, I mean if this isn't your fault then-- Shit! This is some kind of STD, right?"

Kor-Vas uttered a harsh bark of a laugh. "Oh no. You're not pinning this shit on me. That thing cannot possibly be my spawn. This is all you, sweetheart."

Atton pushed the plunger handle against the other man's throat. "It takes two, baby."

Pressure gathered on Atton's body and then he went soaring across the room, it felt like the air literally popped out of his lungs as he was flung into the far wall. "No freaking way. There has to have been someone else you fracked between now and then."

Atton laughed. "Why does it even matter? I mean, seriously." He peeled himself off the wall and coughed. "Where's this kid supposed to come out of? My ass? I don't think so. Get this thing out of me. Now."

"What the hell do you expect me to do about this? Do I look like a freaking doctor to you? Go talk to Disciple, because I need to get drunk. Really drunk."

"Right, fine." Something in Atton's lower back cracked as he stood up and stretched. "Just so long as we agree this is all your fault."

The Exile fished a cigarra out of his robe. "Frack no. I take no responsibility for this unless you get some DNA proof. That's what I tell all the girls that claim me as their baby's daddy."

"Great. I hate you." Atton grabbed his jacket and tried to stretch it around his expanding midsection. It was going to be interesting to explain just why exactly, he needed an Obstetrician.


	2. Chapter 2

Choosing a doctor proved to be difficult. It only takes overhearing a drunken Hutt discuss the politics of the body and organ trade once to learn not to trust just anybody with your wellbeing. As much as he hated to admit it, the best choice happened to be the Disciple. Even if the kid had no clue what to do with him, Atton was pretty sure he could take on blondie in a brawl, parasitical abomination against nature fetus inside him or not.

After the initial embarrassment and skepticism passed, the Disciple gave Atton a full physical. And after that was finished, the only thing that idiot could think to murmur was, "Fantastic!"

"See, there are several words I'd use to describe this situation," Atton drawled. "Fantastic doesn't happen to be one of those words."

"I have never seen anything like this before in my studies, Atton." The Disciple looked up with his blue eyes wide. That hint of child-like awe on his face was unsettling. "That the child appears to be viable is nothing short of a miracle."

"Or karmic payback," Atton snorted. He covered his face with his hands. "I can't do this. You have to help me."

"Have you ever heard of the term ectopic pregnancy?" the Disciple asked.

"I don't have the babies," Atton snapped. "I make them."

"Obviously, this has turned out to not be the case," the Disciple replied.

Atton felt a vein begin to throb in his temple. He wouldn't kill the Disciple. Not yet. Use the man for all he was worth, then kill him. Patience. So long as the end result was blondie face down in a puddle of his own blood, all would be well.

"An ectopic pregnancy is one where the fetus implants outside of the womb," Disciple explained. "Usually, the fetus dies and we operate on the mother so she doesn't hemorrhage to death."

"Are you saying we're going to kill this kid?" Atton asked. "Because I'm all for that."

"Not exactly." The Disciple gave him a lukewarm smile. "You're a very unique case, Atton."

Atton slammed his fist onto the examination table. "I have a penis and I have a baby in me, I get that. I'm trying to rectify the situation, you asshole…" He blinked. "…holy crap. I don't believe this. I'm like some kind of science experiment for you, aren't I? You want to drag me to some lab and dissect me, don't you?"

"No! That's not… well, yes, I suppose I would, but that's beside the point."

Atton scrambled up the examination table until his back hit the wall. "You come near me, I swear I will kill you!"

Disciple frowned. "You're not letting me explain, Atton."

"Start talking," Atton snapped.

"Generally, with an ectopic pregnancy, the fetus implants in one of the fallopian tubes." The Disciple cleared his throat. "But you, being male, do not have fallopian tubes—"

"Oh gee, really?"

"Please, let me finish."

Atton threw his hands up and tried not to roll his eyes.

"Without a womb to provide nourishment, this child has latched onto a number of your internal organs," Disciple said as he began to dry wash his hands. "I'm going to advise bed rest for you so that the child doesn't become dislodged and create uncontrollable bleeding."

Atton was pretty sure he was developing a twitch. "How about we kill it?" he exploded. "Kill it with fire, kill it with knives, kill it with your mom, just kill it, kill it, get it out of me."

Disciple looked down at his knees, his smile failing to be anything but uncomfortable. "It's the bleeding that I'm worried about. If we operate right now, there are too many places where bleeding could go unchecked and even though you admittedly only need one of your kidneys, you do need your liver in order to live."

"So if I move too much, I could bleed to death. But if I remove the problem that might make me bleed to death. So no matter what, I could bleed to death?" Atton slumped down on the table. "That's just great."

"I'm hoping that when the child's ready to be born, it will release your organs in a more gentle fashion than the options currently available," the Disciple added.

"When you hope for things, I want to stab you in the head with a spoon," Atton grumbled. "You expect me to just give birth to this thing out of my crotch?"

Disciple's eyebrows raised. "Of course not! You lack a birth canal. We'll have to perform a C-section. All other possibilities sound rather… unpleasant."

Atton crossed his legs.

"At any rate, the medical community needs to hear about this." The Disciple was getting a feverish look to his eyes as he rambled on.

"Wait just a damn minute!" Atton waved his hands. "No! And when I say no, I mean no. In case you're not listening, let me repeat it one more time: No."

The Disciple blinked. "This is bigger than you, Atton," he said. "And I'm hardly an expert in healthy fetal development—"

"No!" Atton jumped off of the table and groped for his clothing. "I don't need people poking and prodding at me, thanks. I'll be sleeping with a blaster."

"At least take a multivitamin."

"Shut up." Atton punched the door's console behind him and stormed off.

The speeder ride back to the apartment was fairly uneventful. If uneventful could be described as kicking the door open during a stop light and leaning over the open stories of air on the speedways to puke up the recommended multivitamin. Someone needed to pay for this. Someone needed to die.

As soon as he got to the apartment, Atton tossed his jacket on the back of the door and flopped down on the couch. "Blondie says it's all your fault," he called out. A complete and total lie, but at that point in time, Atton felt he was entitled. "You just loved me too much to be sterile."

The Exile stumbled out of the kitchen in his boxer shorts, arm draped around a clueless looking pink Twi'lek. He stared at Atton's belly as he wobbled side to side, "Well son of a schutta. I knew I was virile, but damn."

"Tell me about it," Atton sighed melodramatically. "He's says I'm stuck with it for the time being, too. I think he's decided I'm his personal living breathing test tube."

The Exile took a drag from his cigarra. "Better you than me."

Atton shot a mournful expression at the Twi'lek. "I hope for your sake you brought protection. If this freak of nature child fermenting in my guts because of him isn't enough to scare you away, maybe the strange rash he gave me is."

"Don't listen to him, baby. He's just jealous." Kor-Vas smacked her on the ass. "Now hurry up and go pick us up some more smokes and juma, K? And pick up something nutritious for the freak of nature here. Like vegetables or something."

The Twi'lek shot them both wide-eyed looks before hurrying out the door. Now there was a winner, right there.

"Dammit, if she doesn't come back, I'm going to give you an ass beating," Nico muttered.

"In my delicate condition?" Atton rubbed at his brow line. "I think this thing's attached to my liver. You think if you cut me open with a lightsaber it'll cauterize and minimize bleeding?"

"Your liver, huh?" The Exile started snickering. "No drinking for you then until this thing is born."

"Somehow I fail to grasp the humor in this situation," Atton muttered. "Come on! I can't do this. You've got to gut me and then heal me with the Force or something."

"Look. If the Disciple said he couldn't get it out of you, then I'm not going to be able to without killing you." Nico shrugged. "Besides, if it's the will of the Force for me to populate the galaxy with my awesome spawn, then who am I to argue?"

"I can't believe this." Atton rolled the couch's decorative pillow up and placed it behind the crook in his neck. "It's the will of the Force to make me its bitch."

Kor-Vas snorted. "Welcome to the higher understanding of the Jedi. Some people meditate for years and become masters and never figure that simple truth out. You should be proud of yourself, precious."

Atton waved a hand. "Well, here's another simple truth: I'm stuck on bed rest until this thing is evicted. Think you could get a nursemaid? Maybe one with red hair. Or yellow lekku. I haven't seen a yellow Twi'lek in a while. An attractive one, at least."

The Exile was silent for a minute as he considered. "Too bad Mira hates my guts, or we could ask her." He looked over at Atton, "Although she likes you."

"Yeah, I don't know what that's all about." Atton rolled over on his side. "She's a good kid." He raised his eyebrows as a thought occurred to him. It probably wouldn't work, but it was worth a shot. "So how about a foot rub and a beer?"

"How about I sell you to a Hutt instead?" the Exile asked. "You could be their next exotic dancer." He scratched his bare belly and wandered back into the kitchen, probably looking for more Juma. Because he could. Frack-head.

"I'm serious!" Atton hollered after the other man. Judging from the clatter of bottles a room over Kor-Vas was busy ignoring him. Atton threw his arm up and wrapped it around his pillow.

"I could drink it to death," he grumbled to himself. "I thought that idea was pretty brilliant, myself." He poked at his stomach with his free hand. "My liver's not big enough for just me, kiddo. One of us has got to go."

And they would. A deeply existential battle for one's own body. And Atton was prepared to kick fetus ass. After a quick nap.


	3. Chapter 3

"That douchebag sold me out. Doctor confidentiality, my ass!" Atton decided to forgo any lewd gestures at the comm screen in favor of rubbing out the cramp in his leg. "I'd kick the crap out of him, but he's protected by this wall of doctors that all want to draw my blood, do ultrasounds and stick strange things in stranger places."

Mira blinked back at him blearily, running a hand through her tousled hair and rubbing at an eye. "Wh- what? Atton, is that you? I told you not to call this number unless it was an emergency. Is this an emergency? It had better be a really big emergency."

"Of course it's an emergenc—you mean you don't know?" That made Atton pause. He leaned towards the window and edged the drapes over with his fingers. He was immediately rewarded with the blinding light of a flash bulb going off outside. He pushed the drapes back into place and turned back to the view screen. "All right, this is going to sound weird, but I'm having a baby. And if you were having a baby I would respect your choice to abort it or sell it to a Hutt or whatever you felt you needed to do with it, but apparently since I'm some kind of anomaly I can't even get a damn glass of juma when—"

"Hold on, hit the afterburners," Mira held up a hand in a silencing gesture. She straightened her posture and with her other hand, adjusted the sheet she had wrapped around her torso. Her shoulders were bare. Atton realized that he had probably woken her up. He wondered if she was still in bed. Unfortunately, it was hard to be sure, as the only illumination in her room seemed to be from her comm-screen itself. She waved her raised hand unsteadily for a second, took a deep breath and asked, "I'm sorry, but you're _what_?"

He counted back from ten in his head and tried to remember some long forgotten hyperspace route. "It's a baby," he said. "The first few months I could still go out in public because it looked like a beer gut. All the medical people want me to wait for it to rip its way out of my stomach like some horror vid freak show. "

She squinted at him for a moment, scowling. "You're serious, aren't you? And you don't seem to be high on glitterstim. Wait..." Her eyebrows shot up and her jaw dropped, "The guy on the news holos, the freak show, that's _you._ " She threw her head back, stifling her laughter with the hand not holding the sheet.

Still laughing, she suddenly twisted behind herself and reached into the darkness of the room. "No baby, it's nothing," he heard her whisper, "Go back to sleep."

"It's not funny! Nico Kor-Vas will knock your ass up from the other side of the galaxy with half a thought! I think I'm going to die, here, I think I'm... I..." He frowned. "I think I'm interrupting something, here."

"Yes," she said, "The first decent night's sleep I've had in, well, ever." She grinned. "Which is more than can be said for you, I imagine. I bet Nico'll skip out on his child support payments. Will you breast feed? 'Mira' is a good name for a girl, by the way."

"Hey now, if you're so interested in the kid, you can have it." Atton scratched at his chest. "This is one of those things I've got a bad feeling about. Like it's going to be born with fangs kind of feeling. And that was before it decided to use my kidneys as a pair of bongos."

She contorted her face in mock-sympathy. "At least now they'll match your prostate." She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Seriously though, Atton, are you _sure_ it's, you know, a real, live baby? Maybe it's just an infected cyst or freaky tumor or a brain-sucking parasite or something. Have you fracked anything non-human recently? Besides Kor-Vas, I mean."

He began to wring his hands. "I wish," Atton said. And then he blinked. "About the kid stuff, not about fracking aliens... Well, maybe both.

"Kor-Vas was the one that freaked out first with all his Jedi mysticism garbage and the one benefit of being a living, breathing freak show is having top of the line medical care. I've got ultrasounds if you want, but I told them to hold off on the gender."

For the first time in a long time, Mira seemed genuinely speechless. It didn't last long. "Holy fracking mother of the chaos god. Honestly? That's... You're a real piece of work Atton Rand. Nothing is ever simple with you, is it?" She shook head in exasperation. "At least you're getting that top of the line medical treatment then, right? Don't ever go to those creepy droid-run free clinics. I've heard bad stories. Stick with real doctors." She sighed and propped an elbow on the console and rested her chin in her hand. "What're you going to do?"

"Aside from finding the tallest building on the planet and proceeding to throw myself off of it, I don't know." He shrugged and gave a snort. "You're the only person I know with an active and functioning soul. I don't know what to tell you. But I think I may have to kill Kor-Vas. If for no other reason than the principle of it all."

Mira snorted, "No argument here." She leaned back and sighed. "Well, whatever you decide let me know if you, I don't know, need help with something or whatever. You've got my number so, call. I hardly sleep anyway." She rolled her eyes as she made the last statement, a private in-joke probably.

"Will do." He forced a smirk on his face for her sake. "Try wearing some pajamas. It's hard to get to sleep if you're cold."

"Oh," she replied. "I'm not cold. Goodbye Atton. Hope everything works out."

He watched as her image faded from the screen. He shook his head. Ridiculous.

Sleep was probably something that he needed right then, as well. Not that Mira looked like she'd been sleeping. She looked too happy for that.

Who the hell had she been talking to?

His bladder felt like it was two seconds away from bursting. So that was it, then. There was a cold resignation fluttering in his gut.

Or maybe that was just the kid. It was frightening to think that things would only get inevitably harder once the kid was on the outside. Atton rubbed his face and shuffled to the refresher.

With the passing weeks, Atton's "beer gut" had expanded into a full blown keg. Despite what the Disciple said to the contrary, Atton insisted that whatever movements he felt inside were heartburn and indigestion, but it was getting better.

If he could ignore the stretch marks, the strange rash and everyone dumping out his booze.

"I know blondie knows what this kid is," Atton was saying as he patted his belly. "He keeps giving me these looks, you know?"

Kor-Vas shoved a forkful of Corellian noodles into his mouth and washed it all down with one giant swallow of juma. "That's probably because you're having twins, or triplets and he doesn't want his prize lab gizka to freak out."

"Nah, I keep telling him I don't want to know." Atton made a point of swirling his glass of water. Kor-Vas, by this time, was immune. "If it's a he or she, then we have to start doing crap like picking out names and actually admitting it's a legitimate person. I've already gotten offers from a couple Hutts."

The Exile glared over at him. "No way are you selling my fracking spawn to a Hutt."

"I'm sorry, have you seen how swollen my ankles are?" Atton asked. "Since when did you start giving a shit?"

"Since that thing is half my DNA which means it's probably destined for greatness," Kor-Vas said with a shake of his head. Oh, yes. That made perfect sense. "Hell, there's probably a Jedi prophecy somewhere about how awesome it's going to be."

Atton narrowed his eyes. "If this kid's destined for greatness it's because on its eighteenth birthday we're going to team up and kill you." He shook his head. "Seriously, man. Neither of us are exactly what you'd call prime candidates for the ideal father. Maybe we should just hand it over to the Disciple or something."

The Exile pulled a face. "Oh hey, I didn't say I was going to do a fracking thing for it. Kids smell and are a serious pain in the ass." He considered for a second as he tossed the leftover noodles aside and lit up a smoke. "But I don't want a pussy like Disciple raising my spawn, either."

"Well, see, now we have a problem," Atton said as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "You don't want it and I don't want it, but you don't want the Hutts or the Disciple to have it, either. What do you humbly suggest, oh master Jedi?"

Kor-Vas rolled his eyes, as though the answer were obvious. "That we find someone with a nice rack and dump it on them. That way if we ever decide to visit, we can have some fun on the side, too."

Atton stared at the other man. "There is something horribly wrong with you."

"Me? You were the one thinking about selling the potential chosen one to a Hutt." Kor-Vas waved a hand as smoke drifted from his nostrils. "I'm just looking for alternatives to make everyone happy."

"Okay fine, whatever." Atton raised his hands up. "So should we put a place for cup size on the applications?"

Nico frowned. "That sounds like it might be too much trouble. We should just give it to someone we already know."

"I'm pretty sure Mira already said no."

"Mira's rack is pretty spectacular, even though she won't let me touch it," Nico grumbled, "But there's got to be someone else we know."

Atton began to count them out on his fingers, "Mira's out, Disciple's out, Visas' is dead, Kreia's dead..." He laughed. "We have a problem. It's sounding more and more like everyone's either dead or hates our guts."

"Brianna is around too much. If we gave the kid to her we'd have to see it all the freaking time." Kor-Vas scratched his chin. "Maybe we can pawn it off on one of those fat farm girls on Dantooine. They seem kinda matronly."

"Yeah, I guess that works." Atton paused to take a sip of water. They'd just have to stress just how dangerous it could be for a young child to hang out with its daddys when they were fighting Sith and saving the galaxy. "They are literate, right?"

The Exile laughed. "I have no idea. I had more important things to worry about like boob size and if we find some place where their fathers couldn't find us."

"Mmm," Atton snorted. "Nothing like burly, inbred, hick Jedi. I can just imagine you in your sixties when all these angsty illegitimate brats are of age and have decided to destroy you because they weren't held enough as children."

It was like talking to a ferocrete wall. Kor-Vas continued to lip the end of his cigarra. "Whatever. How do you know they won't find me and thank me for giving them such awesome genetics?"

"Because due to your preference in partners, they're all going to be fat, backwater nitwits."

The Exile took a drag from his cigarra. "Like the Force would let that happen."

"What the Force would let happen?" Atton set his glass down on the table and rubbed at his face. "I'm not going to hit you. I'm just going to strangle you for a little bit."

"It's true," Kor-Vas continued. "Have you ever, even once seen a fat Force user?"

"Are there any Force sensitive Hutts?" Atton said slowly.

Nico laughed. "I've never heard of one."

"Well, shit, I've got nothing." Atton shrugged. "Still don't think it's the Force. Spend a lifetime whipping a lightsaber around and running away from any kind of common sense and anyone'd be pretty toned."

"Force, luck, exercise. You can call it whatever you want, but no kid of mine will be fat."

"That sounds like a wager to me," Atton sighed as he stretched his arms out. "When this kid's born, I'm going to feed it a diet of lard and cheese just to prove you wrong."

The Exile doubled over laughing. "Yeah right. You'd actually have to pay attention to it for that to happen. Don't lie. The first thing you're going to do when this kid is born is be drunk for a couple of months."

"Don't forget going face down in a nice pair of knockers, too." Atton wasn't exactly sure what he found so irritating about the other man's comment. It was probably just a reaction to the lower back pain. Goddamn hormones. "I can't wait for this to be over. It's unbelievable that some idiots actually try for this crap."

"I think they must not know how much it sucks beforehand." Nico gave a somber nod of his head at the philosophical implications that could have only been brought about by several hours of steady drinking. "Or maybe they're all just accidental pregnancies and everyone lies about it afterwards."

Atton gave a grunt and nodded his head. Freaking Disciple wanted to be informed of way too much. Poking and prodding, asking what Atton had for breakfast and insisting on being the first to know if he started to urinate blood or any other creepy, potentially life-threatening thing happened.

"Does this mean you won't pay child support?" Atton snorted.

Nico flashed his teeth clenched around the cigarra. "Yup. The gift of my fantastic DNA should be enough."

"Well, sorry you feel that way." Atton stood and yawned. "I've got a couple Hutts I need to talk to."

The wave of Force energy knocked Atton back onto the couch in the other room before he had a chance to even blink. Kor-Vas was on his feet and marching over. So much for the Disciple's request for bed rest and low-stress environments. "I don't freaking think so. Fat farm girls, or I lock your ass in here with no vid or comm until you pop."

"I was fracking joking!" Atton groped for his stomach; freaking thing was doing a damn line dance in there. "Crybaby."

"Just for that, I'm going to get drunk, while you have to sit there and just watch," Kor-Vas snarled.

"Drunk enough to pass out?"

The Exile shot him a suspicious glare. "Why? You going to do something stupid if I do?"

"I'm just saying." Atton waved his hands. "We never snuggle anymore, baby."

Kor-Vas frowned and then shrugged. "Tell you what. You go get me a beer and sandwich and we can snuggle all you want."

Atton paused, like he was actually considering it. Then he doubled over laughing.

Nico's laughter joined his as he shoved off the chair. "You're all right, Rand," he declared as he swaggered out of the room.


	4. Chapter 4

"Atton, please. I need you to take nice, even breaths."

"I am breathing, you stupid murglak!"

Through the rapid pulsations of agony, Atton could hear the Disciple sigh. "I want you to arch your back like a cat so I can make an injection. Can you do that?"

Things had gone to hell so fast. One moment Atton had been sitting and flipping through vids with a minor pain and then a moment later it was like something had burst and had replaced all that ache with a constant thrumming torture. Fortunately Nico was there and after the first few minutes of him poking Atton in the side with a finger and declaring it over exaggeration, he had tossed them both in the speeder and headed to the hospital.

Now Kor-Vas busied himself with flipping through datapads and giving the occasional annoyed glance. If there was any justice at all in the universe, a ship would land on him. It wouldn't have to be a large ship, any ship would do as far as Atton was concerned.

"I know it burns, Atton," the Disciple was saying, "but please refrain from using that phrase to describe my mother."

In the back of his mind, Atton was pretty sure that all he wanted to do was explain that everything was excruciatingly painful and he really wanted the Disciple to do everything in his power to relieve that pain. Atton's lips translated that into a string of half-coherent obscenities.

"I'm trying to help, Atton," Disciple continued. "Really, I am. As soon as the pain medication kicks in, we can operate."

"Kill you," Atton moaned.

"Yes, yes," Disciple sighed. "You're going to kill me, then kill my mother. The obstetrician's washing up."

Those bastards propped up a white sheet just below Atton's neck like that would make it better. Just because he couldn't see what they were doing, didn't mean they weren't doing it to his body. He ignored Disciple's numerous protests and finally felt someone strap his arms down.

The whir of some kind of saw followed by the smell of his cooking flesh sent Atton into another fit. This time, the Disciple was there with a fresh needle and after it was emptied into Atton's arm, when he closed his eyes, they didn't open again for a long time.

Through the haze of sleep and drugs, the first thing he realized when he blinked his eyes open again was that his arms were free. Atton immediately reached a hand for his belly. A bunch of loose skin stapled together. It was pretty gross when he thought about it.

Kor-Vas was in a chair with a stack of datapads in his lap. He looked old, irritable and very unnatural without a cigarra dangling from his lip.

Atton shifted in the hospital bed. "I want to punch blondie in the back of his head."

Nico shrugged. "What's new about that?"

"It's personal now instead of just principle. I want to pop him really hard." Atton lifted a fist for emphasis. "Think he'd squeal like a little girl?"

"I dunno. He might surprise you and kick your ass." Nico snickered. "I mean, he wasn't the one who got knocked up. Seems to me that you're more girl than he is."

Atton gave his stomach another pat. "Oh yeah, about that. Where's my beer?"

The Exile waved him off and turned his attention back to the stack of datapads on his lap. "Later. I'm doing important shit right now."

"I haven't had a beer in the past nine months," Atton said. "The only breasts I've seen in the past seven were my own. I'm not seeing what's more important, here."

"Our spawn's destiny, you dumbass." Kor-Vas pointed at the call button. "If you want boobs and a beer, send for the nurse."

"Our spawn has a destiny now, huh?" Atton snorted. "Where is it, anyway? It didn't have flippers or something, did it?"

"I have no idea. Disciple took it away pretty quickly. I figure they'll bring it around eventually." He frowned down at the datapad. "We've got bigger problems anyway. Our kid could be destined to rule some planet of amphibious sents called Gungans. That's fracking lame."

Atton laughed. "Are you sure that's a prophesy and not a children's book?"

"There's a picture of one right here." The Exile tossed him the datapad, apparently not caring if it landed on his sutures. He carried on, oblivious to the hiss that escaped Atton. "Tell me if that isn't the dumbest thing you've ever seen."

He wasn't kidding. Ugliest freaking thing Atton'd seen in a long time. Then again, with the whole baby, it wasn't like he had been allowed out to the bar. "That can't be real." He turned the datapad off and shoved it off the bed. "It's got to be a puppet. Made by a spice addict."

"Damn, I hope so. 'Cause otherwise that's just too freaking depressing. I mean, all that work I did to get this kid here and that's the payoff? That's some banthashit right there."

Atton threw his hands behind his head. "Next time you get to incubate the kid inside your gut, honey bunch."

Nico rolled his eyes. "Like it was that hard. You sat on the couch for months, stuffed your face and bitched at the top of your lungs."

"I'm just saying." If Atton tried really hard, he could imagine the other man's head exploding in a cloud of blood. "If there's a next time, it's your turn."

"Please. Like that would ever happen. The Force has more important things for me to do."

"Yeah," Atton snorted. "Like look through datapads of ugly lizards."

"Like saving the galaxy." Kor-Vas started digging through the datapads again. "Which is probably what the spawn will do. I should look for prophecies about that."

"Are there any prophecies about what's up with this?" Atton reached down and jiggled his gut with his hands. "This? Is disgusting. When does this go away?"

Kor-Vas' lips pulled back and exposed his teeth. "When you get a plastic surgeon, jackass. Now quit bugging me. I've got work to do."

"I don't like prophecies, anyway," Atton said. "They're all about twins that get separated at birth only to meet as adults and have sex."

"Or killing your father and marrying your mother." Kor-Vas tossed the datapad to the side and picked up another one. "Dammit, there's got to be a good one in here somewhere."

Maybe it was a reaction to the medication, but Atton was pretty sure he was hit with a wave of panic and paranoia. He gripped at the rails on the side of his hospital bed. "Nico, we need to keep track of this kid. Otherwise, we're going to forget and end up doinking it when it turns eighteen."

Nico pulled a face. "Shit. Good point. Maybe we can put a tracking collar on it one of those ear tags they use to keep track of animals. They have chips for that, right?"

"I'll ask Mira," Atton said. "She'd know."

Nico scowled down at the datapads before shoving them all onto the small table next to him. "Well that sucks. The best I could find was one about a chosen one bringing balance to the Force, whatever the hell that means. Such bullshit."

"I thought that was what the old scow was trying at--"

They were interrupted by a steady three knocks on the door. The Disciple let himself into the room while dry washing his hands.

"May we talk?" he asked.

Atton frowned. "It was born with fangs, wasn't it?"

"No, it's just that, well..."

"Spit it out, blondie," Kor-Vas gruffly cut in. "We haven't got all day, and if I have to wait much longer to have a smoke, I'm going to start cracking heads."

"I do not think your child was conceived by normal means," the Disciple said weakly.

"No shit," Atton drawled.

"We couldn't get a clear look with the baby still inside you." By the way the Disciple's eyes were scanning the room, Atton was willing to bet he was looking for all possible exits. "But we found scar tissue and other signs to suggest that she was... surgically implanted inside you."

Kor-Vas was completely nonplussed. "Who their right mind would implant a baby inside of _him_?"

"I'm glad to see that we both have the same exact question." The Disciple cleared his throat.

"I need to kill someone," Atton said. "Where's the kid?"

"She's fine." Disciple appeared to be turning a little green.

Kor-Vas clapped his hands. "Well bring her out, then. I want to see the chosen one."

The Disciple's eyes immediately went to the available exits and he began to edge towards the door. "I don't think that would be a good idea..."

Atton slapped a hand across his forehead. "Oh man, she does have fangs, doesn't she?"

"No, it's not--"

"Scales, then? Two heads? Webbed feet? Flippers? Come on!"

"She is quite normal," the Disciple insisted.

The Exile rose from his chair. "Then what the hell is making you so damn twitchy? You look like you're about to wet your pants, kid, and it's starting to piss me off."

"Well, it's not a big deal, really. It's just that the," Disciple cleared his throat, "uh, _mother's_ blood type is A, but the child's is O."

"Mother?" The Exile shot a look over at Atton. "You mean, him right?"

"Well, yes. I wasn't exactly sure what to call him."

"How about 'Atton?'" Atton snapped.

"Perhaps surrogate would be a better term considering," Disciple continued to ramble on. "Because someone with type A just can't give birth to someone with type O."

"What are you talking about?" Kor-Vas was getting more irritable by the second. The rapid, hard taps of his fingers against the table only compounded the Disciple's nervous twitches. "I thought that's what he just did."

The Disciple's mouth opened and closed like a fish a few times. "He gave birth, yes. But it's not his, genetically speaking. You can't make a human embryo with only two sperm cells."

"Where is that hot nurse with my beer?" Atton asked.

The Exile's eyes narrowed. "So you're saying this kid isn't ours?"

"It's not his," Disciple repeated. "Did you want to submit a paternity test?"

"Wait." Kor-Vas frowned. "You think this kid isn't his, but it might be mine?"

The Disciple got this indignant look as he turned up his nose. "We _know_ it's not his, but we haven't compared DNA from any other potential mother or father yet."

The Exile shrugged. "Yeah, sure blondie. Take your sample."

"Well this is great," Atton muttered as the Disciple jabbed Kor-Vas in the pinky with a needle. "I'm going to change my name to Force Bitch."

Nico doubled over laughing, which sent the Disciple fumbling for the fresh blood sample. "Damn, Rand. You should since I think the Force just took a big shit on you."

"I still want her to have my last name," Atton said. "Because I need a little more than a couple stretch marks to show for this."

The Exile still hadn't stopped laughing. His face had turned a patchy red and he looked on the verge of tears or wetting himself. Maybe both. "That kid is so freaking lucky not to have you as a father."

"You know what? Screw it. Name her Angel." Atton glowered. "Sticking with the Corellian gutter trash convention of naming your kid something lofty that they'll never aspire to. Angel Mira Rand. I won't even go into what my ma named me."

That stopped Nico's laughter. "Wait. Why does Mira get this kid named after her but not me? I'm the one who's put up with your ass the whole damn time."

Atton shrugged. "I don't know, she told me to. It'd be kind of lame to name a chick Nico, anyway."

"Yeah, but we can at least name her after a chick that can actually stand me," Kor-Vas said.

Frack it. It was too much. Atton kicked the bedsheets off. "And here you go getting all invested in this, again. You're going to be so pissed if she turns out to not be yours either."

Nico stood up and began to pat his pockets down until he found his pack of cigarras. "That's because I like her better now that I know she doesn't share your DNA."

Atton stared at the Disciple. "Angel Mira Rand. Accept no alternatives."

Disciple just backed out of the room, turned and left.

Kor-Vas already had a cigarra perched between his lips as he stood up and followed suit. Atton watched the other man huff it down the hospital's corridor, smoke drifting from his nose before he even reached the door to the outside.

Atton sighed and held the back of his gown in a wadded knot as he trailed out of the room after the Disciple. Blondie, for his part, tried like hell to pretend that Atton wasn't there. The kid had to acknowledge him when Atton put his free hand on the other man's shoulder.

"I'd like to see her at least," he said.

"You would?" Disciple had this twitchy, nervous look about him that Atton didn't appreciate in the least.

"I would," Atton said through a strained smile. "That's not a problem, is it?"

"Not exactly—"

"Well, then, let's go see her, then." Atton threw his arm around the other man's shoulder. Just a casual, friendly gesture. One that could easily turn into a headlock or worse if the bastard tried to run.

The two men walked in awkward silence through the Labor and Delivery ward of the hospital until they reached the nursery. Dozens of little plasteel baby prisons lined the room from wall to wall. Atton hedged his way through infants sleeping, squalling and fidgeting, his grip on the Disciple's shoulder tightening.

"Right there." Blondie nodded his chin towards a container.

Atton had hoped something would change. Love, hate, relief, despair, something. The kid's black, almond-shaped Kor-Vas eyes opened at him and he stared back at her skin darker than his, darker than Nico's. Disciple hadn't been kidding.

That snug pink skullcap she was wearing was probably the size of his fist if that. Tiny and helpless and he felt nothing. Well, that wasn't true. Atton was angry. Very angry. Fortunately, it wasn't at the infant.

"You caused me a lot of trouble, kiddo." He ran his thumb across her forearm gently and sighed. "I think I'm ready for that beer now. Thanks, blondie."

The Disciple blinked. "That's it? That's all you wanted?"

"Yeah." Atton nodded. "I'm good." And with that, he turned and walked away.


	5. Epilogue

"Yes. Yes, it went even better than expected." Mical Jorde's heart would always thud frantically in his chest when he was in the middle of a lie.

Well, not so much a lie as it was an untruth. It was the subtle differences that made the morally gray appear closer to white in his mind. He'd tell untruths to those surrounding him; he'd lie to himself about it later. All in a day's work, he supposed.

Regardless, he was relieved. For as perceptive as Atton Rand sometimes seemed, the man appeared determined to stay ignorant of the events surrounding his miraculous pregnancy. Rand went so far as to not only accept what misinformation they fed him, but to walk away from it all, willfully blind.

Which was good. A success. More than a success, even. As manufactured a miracle as the pregnancy was.

"It doesn't look like he wants anything to do with the child," Mical murmured into his comm. "He named it and walked away. More importantly, he believes there was only one."

He thumbed his comlink off and put it in his pocket. This case had just gotten more and more bizarre. Mical hazarded that he didn't need to necessarily understand the exact whys for the assignment, only that he needed to do his job. Unfortunately, at that moment his job consisted of finding a suitable home for 18 hour old orphan boy. He sighed and got to work.


End file.
